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'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE. 



The Passing of the Stall =fed Ox and the Farm Boy. 



BY GEORGE SHELDON. 



[Read at the annual meeting of the Pocumtuck Valley Memorial Association at Deerfiekl, Feb. 2:2, 1898.] 



In giving this paper a title I have fol- 
lowed the Wizard of the North so far 
as to say '"Tis sixty years since," but 
for obvious reasons I shall follow him 
no farther. Instead of his poetic and ro- 
mantic flights of imagination, I shall 
perforce abide in the region of the most 
prosaic and every-day prose. 

I may be presumptuous, but my ob- 
servation has led me to believe that peo- 
ple nowadays are interested in the small" 
est details of local customs and local oc- 
cupations which have gone into the do- 
main of history. In the sketch of the 
artist, while the period may be selected 
at will, the objects presented in the fore- 
ground, the middle and the extreme dis- 
tance must all be on a contemporaneous 
plane, or the composition lacks harmony. 
The same is true of an historical sketch, 
but in a lesser degree, and while my 
middle ground may be sixty years since, 
and the perspective show considerable 
variation, I trust harmony will be pre- 
served, while the principal features of 
one of the lost arts of Deerfield are given 
in detail. 

Among all the industries of our town 
none has been, more productive or made 
her more famous than stall-feeding oxen 
for the Boston and New York markets. 
In this business Deerfield had rivals in 
a few down-river towns, but no beef 
brought higher prices on the foot than 
that driven from the barnyards of old 
Deerfield Street. In my boyhood every 



farmer was engaged in that calling and 
the capacious barns and sheds still re- 
maining testify to their generous equip- 
ments for conducting the business. 

Stall feeding- in Deerfield began at a 
very early period and flourished until 
the advent of railroads. These brought 
Western competition and ruin to the 
business in the East. Railroads were 
bread and meat to the Buckeye, the 
Sucker and the Hoosier, but poison to 
the Yankee farmer. In vain the sweat 
of our brows and the acquired skill of 
generations, when pitted against the 
virgin soil of the broad prairies, with 
limitless reaches of pasturage and land 
which needed only to be tickled with a 
plow to laugh corn and oats. The West- 
erners soon undersold us in our own 
markets. With the great meat staples 
to be had almost for the asking and the 
iron horse feeding on fire and water at 
command, the unequal contest was a 
short one — the king of the valley was 
dethroned. 

In early days it was an unheard of 
thing for oxen to be "sent to market" 
which had not been through a course of 
stall feeding in someof the valley towns. 
In the fall of each year the feeders 
scoured the hill towns on the west and 
north and picked up the best speciments 
of oxhood to be found in the rich pas- 
tures or under the easy yokes of the farm- 
ers who reared them for their own needs 
and ultimately for a market in the valley 



The Root of the Whole Matter. 



towns. To the care and comfort of these 
the winter was devoted, and our farmers 
grew rich — as riches were then counted 
— in the process. Stall feeding grew to 
be an exact science, or perhaps one of 
the fine arts. Being practically a thing 
of the past, it will be assumed that a 
particular description of its more salient 
features may be of interest; at best. 
however, it must seem dry and com- 
monplace, for it is not possible to infuse 
my notes with the all-pervading spirit of 
the times. 

I have said that the winter was de- 
voted to the care of the stock. This 
word was used advisedly and it ex- 
presses the fact. It was a devotion al- 
most akin to worship. Nothing was al- 
lowed to interfere with the regvilar pro- 
gramme of the day. It was a cardinal 
doctrine of the feeders tliat the more 
comfortable and happy the animals were 
made the better the results. Nothing 
could be more ti'ue, and would that this 
fact were better understood by those 
now having the care of domestic ani- 
inals. In this, humanity and profit are 
in full accord. 

Leaving generalities we will now go 
to the root of the whole matter. One 
spring when hard times had ruled and 
tlie season had been an unprofitable one 
for feeders, the Hatfield farmer de- 
clared: "Well! all I have got to show 
for my year's work is a swearing pile of 
naanure!" Now, whatever the feeders 
got or failed to get, tliey always got 
that — a barnyard knee deep with drop- 
pings and litter, and solid pyramids of 
excremental matter under the stable 
windows which were the prime requisites 
for raising Indian corn and peas-and- 
oats. These were the deposits upon 
which the farmers drew for future opera- 
tions, and these grains, mixed half and 
half, and called provender, were the 
staple feed for fattening oxen. The win- 
ter opened with the cornhouse stuffed to 
overflowing — one big bay in the barn 
filled to the peak with hay and the other 
crammed with "peas'noats" in the straw. 



The latter crop , peas and oats , sown broad- 
cast together and cut with the scythe, 
was very bulky and stringent measures 
were necessary to * 'tread down the mow" 
within a reasonable compass. Man 
power and horse power were both used. 
As a boy I have been many a time up to 
tlie ' "greatbeams" on horse back in the op- 
ei'ation. This was fun for the boy, but a 
hard road to travel for the beast who 
would be half buried in the straw. 

There were no power-threshing ma- 
chines, or coi'n-shellers sixty years since. 
All this grain, and the rye for the fam- 
ily bread was pounded out by the flail 
in the strong liands of the farmer dur- 
ing the intervals not occupied in car- 
ing for the stock. The "peas'noats" 
straw in the bulk, softened down by 
the flail, and the rye straw in the bun- 
dle was stored in the lofts of the cattle 
sheds, to be dealt out by the boys, as 
we shall see. The cobs from the corn- 
house were cax'ried in baskets to the cob 
bin, which was usually in the chamber 
over the kitchen. From this reservoir, 
it was one of the after school chores of 
the boys to carry great basketfuls for 
evening use in the big fire-place of the 
kitchen, which was always the center of 
the family circle. After a generous pile 
of cobs had been poured out in front of 
the forestick, the children were never 
tired of waiting and watching for the 
crisis when the smoking mass would 
finally flash into a sudden blaze, each 
event a new surprise and delight. 

Fanning up "peas'noats" was a dis- 
agreeable process even to the dust-laden 
thresher, and the pile shoved up to one 
side of the barn floor was allowed to ac- 
cumulate until there was a brisk wind 
from the right quarter to carry off the 
chaff and dust, or until the provender 
bins grew lean and like Oliver called for 
more. In either case the "peas'noats" 
were duly fanned and taken in two-bushel 
bags to the cornhouse. The corncobs 
now bare and broken into small pieces 
under the persistent flail were raked out 
from the golden grain and the cereals 



Getting into Winter Quarters. 



carefully mixed. Half a bushel of corn 
was spread on the floor and a half bushel 
of "peas'noats" spread over it, and the 
process was repeated until the pile grew 
to be a grist. The constituents were 
then still further mixetl by shoveling over 
the mass from side to side and then into 
the half bushel measure; from this it was 
poured into the home-made meal bag of 
linen or tow, two bushels to eacli. A 
grist was five or six bags for the cutter, or 
from twenty-five to fifty for the ox sled, 
and the morethriftythe farmer the better 
stocked in advance were the capacious 
provender bins. The grist was carried 
to the Meadow mill two miles away, 
where every day the busy stones con- 
verted hundreds of bushels of this mix- 
ture into provender. The miller was 
held to a strict account to keep his mill- 
stones sharp and so adjusted that the 
provender should come out in exactly 
the right condition for easy digestion, 
not too coarse and not too fine. This 
condition was determined by the trained 
ear of the nriller noting the pitch of the 
groaning mill-stones, or the feel by the 
ti-ained fingers of the hot stream of meal 
spurting from the spout, and woe to the 
miller if the oats were not well cut, or, 
on the other hand, the corn was ground 
into flour. 

We see that the winter was not, as the 
poets sing, altogether a holiday time to 
the Deerfield farmers, especiallj^ when 
we add to the barn work the felling, 
hauling and preparing fuel fire of 
twenty or thirty cords of firewood 
each season. In all matters here treated 
I know whereof I affirm, being in them 
and of them. 

In November the oxen purchased of 
the hill farmers were brought in small 
lots, or pair by pair as most convenient, 
from ten, twenty or even forty miles 
away. In due time came an operation 
which required all the skill and patience 
available. Oxen differ as much in dis- 
position and temper as men; handling 
them in ignorance of their character, 
while under the excitement of their new 



surroundings would be dangerous and 
might be fatal. Hence the ability to 
discern their moods on short acquaint- 
ance was a prime requisite, and farm 
boys were early put to school in this 
study, for such knowledge came only 
with years of close observation. This 
operation was the arrangement of the 
miscellaneous herd into the necessary 
harmonious relations for their winter 
quarters. This proceeding was not un- 
aptly called by "Uncle Ralph." "seating 
the meetinghouse." It may not be 
known to all that in every lierd of 'horned 
cattle, whether it be large or small, there 
is always an absolute grading of rank for 
each member. With them might makes 
right, brute force being the only law. 
The rank is based on strength or skill — 
in short on the fighting qualities of each. 
The leader is an absolute monarch. His 
right once established none dare to dis- 
pute. The second in rank is the one that 
■•beats" all below the chief and so down 
to the weakest which must humbly 
make way for all the others. The mon- 
arch is often a despot; that depends 
upon his character. In any event if he 
have occasion, or makes one, to cross the 
barnyard he takes a bee line regardless 
how many of his felloAvs may be in his 
path; the others do the same so far as 
their rank warrants. The element of 
coiirtesy seems to be entirely wanting. 
We must, however, except from this 
charge the relation of yoke-fellows to- 
wards each other where this quality is 
often very prominent. Mated when 
young they are thenceforth, whether in 
labor or leisure, under the yoke or taking 
their food, literally always together, and 
they usually feel and show a strong at- 
tachment for each other. This latter 
fact was always noted by the judicious 
feeder when preparing for winter quar- 
ters. 

For a stable of ten stalls, five pairs of 
cattle are selected and turned loose in 
the barnyard. As strangers, the ques- 
tion of rank must be settled at the first 
meeting and lively times follow. Everj-^ 



Battling for Rank. 



battle is watched with interest by the 
owner. For the comfort of the oxen it 
was desirable that mates should always 
stand side by side in the stalls. When 
one ox has prevailed in every encounter 
and so settled his place as ruler, it was 
best that his companion should beat all 
the other eight that the pair be not sep- 
arated, and when he had locked horns 
with a rival for the second place, a little 
judicious urging of the mate to his as- 
sistance, or a sly divei'sion on the flank 
or rear of the rival with a pitchfork, al- 
ways in hand, usually made it seem ex- 
pedient for the latter to retire from the 
combat and give up beaten. A victorj^ 
gained the first day, albeit sometimes in 
this questionable manner, was rarely 
again contested. This process continued 
until the rank of each ox was established 
and noted. It was generally a lively 
time for the man as well as for the beast, 
since two or three contests might be in 
progress at the same time. Occasional- 
ly some more intelligent animal having 
faith in his own prowess, and realiz- 
ing that he had been unfairly beaten, 
would rise above the demoralizing effect 
of defeat, watch an opportunitj^ when 
his victor had nothing but his own pluck 
and muscle to back him, and challenge 
him to another combat. From the re- 
sult of this contest there was never any 
appeal. 

The necessity of ascertaining the rank 
of each ox will appear when the usual 
manner of fastening them in the stalls 
is understood. The stalls were about 
three feet wide, separated only by studs 
on the stable side of the manger. The 
studs were boarded up some two and a- 
half feet, and above at the height of the 
oxen's neck, was pinned a stout manger- 
pole running the whole length of the 
stable, to keep the animals from step- 
ping into the manger. The manger had 
no partitions. Each ox was fastened by 
a strong rope about his horns to the stud 
next above him. He thus had liberty 
to move his head freely in every direc- 
tion but one; he could not reach the ox 



below him and dared not molest the one 
above him. It was no easy task, nor 
one devoid of danger to break these ten 
animals into their new quarters. They 
were stra^ngers in a strange place, and 
the stalls and the fastenings were en- 
tirely different from those to which they 
had been accustomed. One by one, the 
autocrat first, the ten were inducted in- 
to their respective stalls by such kind of 
handling as their character seemed to 
call for, the essential thing being to in- 
spire them with confidence in their new 
masters, and in their new surroundings. 
By gentleness and patience each was at 
length tied up in his own place, and the 
"meeting-house was seated." Had the 
dispositions of the new comers been as 
well known as afterwards, the task 
would have been mucli simpler. It be- 
came easier at each repetition, and pei'- 
haps within a week all trouble was over. 
In a short time each ox knew his own 
stall, and would pass by all the tempt- 
ing fodder lying by his path to it, well 
knowing when he would find his own 
awaiting him. 

As a rule mates were so courteous to 
each other that it was often impossible 
to find out which beat; but this kindness 
could not be presumed upon when ar- 
ranging them in the stalls; something 
might occur to arouse the temper of the 
ruler, when if misplaced, trouble would 
follow; the buyer, therefore, always 
asked the seller, '"which beats?" unless it 
was apparent. 

Attacks of home-sickness were not 
uncommon among new comers, and in 
such cases the most vigilant watch over 
doors, gates and fences was necessary 
to frustrate their persistent efforts to 
escape. Once free, the exiles would 
make tracks pointing straight towards 
the home of their early oxhood, and 
with a fair start would get there; 
for the cow-boy and the lasso were not 
of the Connecticut Valley, and the farm 
horse was no match for the excited run- 
aways. It may not be amiss to make 
note of a single case. One day I had 



Homesickness. 



turned into luy well fenced barn-j^ard a 
large pair of oxen just down from Ver- 
mont. Not long after I happened to see 
one of the strangers, with a spring as 
light as a deer, clear the top bar at a 
bound. The mate did not feel equal to 
this feat, but he proposed to show that 
some things can be done as well as oth- 
ers; so after giving one look round for a 
vulnerable point, he walked vip to the 
bars, bent his head deliberately down, 
adjusted his horns carefully to the 
rails and lifted both posts bodily out of 
the ground, quietly laid the whole down 
flat without misplacing a bar and 
walked out over the prostrate structure. 
But with all their active determination 
and prodigious power they acknowl- 
edged the mastersliip of man. I had no 
difficulty in stopping them in a lane 
leading to the highway, and so saving a 
world of trouble to all concerned. On 
this display of agility, ingenuity and 
strength, the homesick pair were con- 
demned to close confinement, and for 
many weeks were not allowed tl'.e liber- 
ty of the yard, it not being safe to as- 
sume that this first break for liberty 
would be the last. As a rule, however, 
the strangers would soon settle down to 
the new order of things, and make the 
most of this, the happiest period of their 
lives, having perfect rest and the best 
food possible to repletion. In a short 
time, when the stal)le door was opened, 
all would march in like a file of soldiers 
and take their places in regular order: 
they always fovmd awaiting them a 
measure of tlie sweetest provender, or 
the most fragrant hay they ever ate. 
Thenceforth for them, life ran in easy 
channels, disturbed onlj^ when some of 
their number were sold to tlie drover 
and strangei's introduced in their places. 
Tlien the scenes of the fall w9re gone 
over again. In these cases the old 
stock usually combined against the 
new comers, forcing them into the 
lowest ranks. Here a good deal of hu- 
man nature came out. Those who had 
so far found place at the foot of the 



herd, backe'd by their fellows, would 
revenge on the intruders their own pre- 
vious humiliation, and the life of the 
latter was made a burden, until the love 
of ease in their tormentors outgrew 
their love of domination. 

The system of feeding here was uni- 
form. The fattening oxen were never 
kept in the stable except to be fed, always 
sleeping in the open air, tlieir only pro- 
tection being sheds opening to the 
south. They were "put up" at daylight 
and always fovmd a savory naess in the 
manger. After the daily routine had 
become settled, they were let into the 
stable as fast as they could walk, and 
were tied up from the front; thus they 
were loose in their stalls for a minute or 
two. At such times traits of character 
were occasionally shown, which proved 
that hoggislmess was not confined to 
the sty or to the human race. There 
being no partitions in the long manger, 
the unscrupulous scamp, seizing this 
momentary liberty, would stretch his 
neck to reach the pile of the ox next be- 
low him and would gobble up the big- 
gest mouthful he could before touching 
his own. and would goon the same errand 
a second time if possible before he was 
tied up. There being usually fast eaters 
and slow eaters, when all were tied, the 
boy with his broom kept each mess as 
compact as possible, and each ox took 
his time to finish it. safe from depreda- 
tion. The boy's knuckles often suffered 
from getting between the broom handle 
and the horns of his impatient custom- 
ers. The provender being disposed of, 
hay from a narrow kench of the solid 
mow, and well shaken up by hand, was 
fed to the oxen little bj^ little until they 
could eat no more. No j^itchfork was 
allowed in this process, for fear the 
cattle's noses might be pricked, or the 
hay get into the manger in lumps, the 
aim being that the hay should fall as 
light as snowflakes on the sod, so, it 
more easily reached its destination. The 
pami^ered beasts were not allowed to 
wait a moment between feeds; if their 



6 



Midday Rest. 



heads were seen above the manger, 
breakfast bell would ring in vain until 
they were all served with another batch 
of hay. If it should chance that some 
streak in the hay-mow was for any x-ea- 
aon not quite up to standard, so that 
the epicures turned up their noses at it, 
it was not, ' 'take that or nothing;" on the 
contrary, the manger was at once 
cleared, the contents relegated to a. less 
particular grade, and replaced by a sat- 
isfactory quality. When stuffed to re- 
pletion, the oxen were let out to drink, 
one pair at a time, beginning of course 
at the foot of the stable; they were 
gently driven to the corner of the yard, 
where stood the watering trough brim- 
ming with Avater freshly drawn from 
the warm deep well, with the old oaken 
bucket. Here they were kept until 
they understood they were expected to 
take their fill. Under the new condi- 
tion of things it was sometimes hard to 
make it clear to the dull-witted ones 
why they were thus held, and occasion- 
ally a pair would not avail themselves 
of the opportunity for a day or two. 
Unpleasant experience, however, soon 
brought them to terms, for as soon as 
all who would had drunk, the trough 
was cleared to prevent an accumula- 
tion of ice; and in a few days it be- 
came a matter of course for each pair 
as they were turned out to go straight 
to the trough and drink their fill. Mean- 
while the stable was being cleared, and 
the next pair was waiting without impa- 
tience for their turn, as a matter of 
routine. When the head pair had taken 
their drink, they selected their camp- 
ing jjlace for the day on the clean beds 
of straw under the shed. If one earlier 
out had ventured to lie down before his 
betters had provided themselves, the 
spot he had selected was usually want- 
ed and he forced to vacate. This condi- 
tion of things was soon understood, and 
the weaker ones waited and watched 
their chance for a bed. When all were 
settled for their midday rest, the barn 
yard became forbidden ground to chil- 



dren and strangers. It was a grave of- 
fence in anybody to "scare up the cat- 
tle." Access to the barn was usually 
through the cattle sheds, and after a 
little, the feeder could thread his way 
unnoticed, among the huge piles of beef, 
chewing the cud in sweet and calm con- 
tent. But let his wife or daughter at- 
tempt to follow, their deference to the 
sex was at once manifest; at the first 
step inside the gate they M'ould rise to an 
ox. At midday the barn was hardly 
more a playhouse for the children than tlie 
meetinghouse. There was no hunting 
of hens' eggs or jumping from the 
great beams on to the mow of "peas- 
'noats" straw. 

It was one of the morning chores for 
the boys to rake up the walks, the va- 
cant part of the bay and the barn floor, 
and all the scattered hay found was put 
with the orts and fed to a lower grade 
of stock; the orts being anything left 
in the manger when the epicures were 
turned out. After the orts were taken 
out the manger was swept as clean as 
broom could make it. The barn was 
kept about as orderly as the kitchen, 
and the food well cared for. At no time 
were the children allowed to play on the 
hay mow, or indulge in the delight of 
tumbling in the pile "thi-own down" for 
immediate use. "How would you like to 
have folks walk on your bread and but- 
ter?" was the standard query, and the 
keynote for all employed about the barn; 
and that neatness which was true econ- 
omy prevailed in every part of the prem- 
ises. A slovenly barn was held to be a 
disgrace to the profession, and clear ev- 
idence of an unthrifty farmer; waste in 
small matters inevitably leading to care- 
lessness in the general management of 
the farm. 

When the hay was put into the mow 
it was trodden down as solid as man and 
boy power could do it, as many a wearied 
pair of boys' legs could testify. "Mow- 
ing away" was no sinecure work, and 
upon its being faithfully done depended 
largely the condition of the hay in the 



Two O'clock. 



winter. The prime object was to keep the 
mow level while the bay was being- 
filled . that it should settle evenly and 
firmly, the outside keeping pace with 
the center — easy enough in theory, it 
was difficult enough in practice. Success- 
fully done the mow became an amalga- 
mated mass, almost as solid as a bank of 
earth, the hay cixring alike in every part: 
wlieu fed out in the winter, the barn 
was filled with its grateful fragrance. 
The mow was cut down witli a sharp 
hay knife in small square kenclies that 
the exposure to the air be as little as 
possible, and no more was "thrown 
down" than was required for immediate 
consumption. The fresher the hay tlie 
better it was relished by the bovine 
palate. tlie better relished ,the more eaten, 
the more eaten, the more resultant fat — 
the aim and end of the wliole process. 

That the appetite should not be cloyed 
by such abimdant richness, the oxen 
were given, about once a week, a break- 
fast of cornstalks, husks or "peas'noats" 
straw, which was received with thanks. 
It was a day of trouble to the feeder, 
wlien as it sometimes happened, tlie ob- 
jects of their care declined to eat the 
good things set before them, owing to 
unfavorable weatlier, or, it may be, to 
overfeeding with provender, albeit a care- 
ful watcli was always kept on the condi- 
tion of their digestive organs. "Your 
cattle eat well to-day?" was a common 
(piery Avhen the feeders met on cliange in 
"Dr. Charles' senate chamber," "No 
trouble about tliat long's this weather 
holds" was the usual response, on days 
when the air was crisp and the frost keen. 

It was this and kindred topics which 
were discussed day after day at this com- 
mon place of meeting, — the fine points of 
each other's stock, the fattening quali- 
ties, the estimated weight, the gain since 
put Tip, and above all the prospective 
price of beef as indicated in the w^eekly 
reports of the Brighton and New York 
markets; story telling was in order 
often at the expense of some of the 
hearers. It was considered a fair game 



and a good joke, for one to cut in and 
buy upon the sly, a pair of oxen which 
a slower neighbor had spotted, and was 
leisurely trying to get at a bargain. Old 
straw was threshed over and over. The 
big ox of Col. Asa Stebbins, which was 
too fat to walk, and was drawn to 
Brighton on an ox sled, was brought out, 
and the Duke and Dime of Uncle Seth, 
which were nearly in that condition, were 
often canvassed; with all this, however, 
was a judicious mixture of narratives, 
sometimes ratlier highly seasoned, and 
occasionally a jovial song from Uncle 
Sid, — and nobody enjoyed or appreciated 
a royal good time better than these 
same hardworking farmers of Deerfield. 
In due time. Dr. Charles' clock strikes 
two. Why is it that not one of that 
company is there to hear it? It is be- 
cause that on the stroke of two, the cat- 
tle must be "put up." None knew the 
hour better than the cattle themselves, 
and they would be surprised and dis- 
turbed by a few minutes delay. They 
did not, like Washington, make an al- 
lowance of five minutes for the variation 
of time-pieces. Fair weather or foul, a 
few minutes before two, they would 
rouse up, lazily stretch their full length 
and after a series of prolonged and 
satisfactory grunts, get up and take 
their respective places in a line, with 
the leader at the stable door. When 
the door is opened the stately column 
marches deliberately in, each to his 
own stall, where he is tied in front, 
and the gorging begins. Nothing was 
allowed to interfere with piitting up 
the cattle at the regular hour. A cur- 
rent story will illustrate this point. 
Of four brothers, prominent men of 
Deerfield Street, the oldest one died. 
There was a large gathering at the 
Major's house for the funeral. To this fact 
I can testify, for through my three-year- 
old eyes. I saw fi-om a chamber window 
the overflow in the door yard. I did not, 
however, see or know about the hitch by 
which the services were delayed for 
a considerable time. When at length 



An Extreme Case. 



the jji-ocession was ready to move to- 
wards the old burying yard, the pointers 
on the major's tall clock indicated the 
near approach of two o'clock, and "Col. 
Dick," one of the brothers, turned the 
other way towards his home. "Uncle 
Liff" joined the procession, but casting 
his eye towards the sun, saw that the cat- 
tle would be waiting at the stable door 
before he could return from the burial, 
so he left the line at his own gate. 
"Uncle Sid.'' following the example of 
his elder brothers, fell out as the proces- 
sion passed his gate, within full sight of 
the graveyard. In due time the rest 
reached the open grave, into which the 
body of the Revolutionary Major was 
lowered: than came a pause for the 
usual ceremony, when some near friend 
of the deceased gave formal thanks to 
the people for their assistance in burying 
their dead. The pause was short. "Uncle 
Hinsdale," who was the conductor of 
the funeral advanced to the grave and 
with his i^eculiar emphatic ahem! and 
his accompanying kick with the heel of 
his right foot, sent the earth rattling 
down upon the coffin and exclaimed 
shortly "Cover him up! Cover him up! 
No friends here!" It is not clear whether 
he was the more vexed at the absence of 
the three brothers, or his own enforced 
presence after two o'clock. 

At nightfall the cattle having eaten 
their fill weie turned out with the same 
ceremony observed in the morning. It 
should have been stated that when un- 
tied in turn, the trained animals did not 
like school boys, make their exit pell- 
mell or hap-hazard; they were early 
taught to back quietly out of the stall, 
and turning to the right or left, as 
the case might be, to take a prescribed 
route at a dignified pace to the stable 
door and so on to the watering-trough. 
After drinking, they camped in the 
sheds for the night. 

It was one of the regular morning 
chores of the boys to "straw the sheds" 
or make up the beds of the oxen for the 
day The dung was thrown out, the 



old camping places stirred up and fresh 
straw from the lofts above was strown 
knee deep over all. And so each day 
their loi'dships were furnished with a 
clean and tempting bed, which, as we 
have seen, they made the most of. 

What I have described, was the regu- 
lar routine, month in and month out, 
until the feeders and the drovers agreed 
that the cattle were fat enough for mar- 
ket, and upon the terms on which they 
should change hands. The drovers were 
men who made it their business to buy 
the fatted oxen of the feeders and drive 
them to the great markets. The looker 
on — provided he had the leisure — could 
find abundant amusement in watching 
the parties while making the bargain. 
Hours would be spent in examining and 
discussing the fine points, or the weak 
points in each animal, adjourning back 
and forth from one to another, in esti- 
mating the comparative weight and 
quality. If the drover found a lack in 
one point, the feeder would call his at- 
tention to a compensation in another. 
If the brisket was fine and full, the 
drover would think the flank too thin ; 
if the barrel was shown to be round and 
plump, the hips would be too narrow; 
if an unusual length of the animal was 
noted, the drover would see too much 
daylight under hini. To offset the broad 
shoulders and swelling ribs, he was found 
too short to weigh well; if the skin was 
found as soft as velvet, the rump was 
not well filled, or if well filled it sloped 
off too much. And so point by point 
and inch by inch, each ox was examined, 
handled and discussed. The subjects 
looked on curiously or went to their 
sti'aw wondering what all this unwonted 
disturbance meant; often they were ob- 
liged to rise again that some material 
point might be settled; while the talk 
went on about the weight on the hoof or 
on the hook; the probable rise or fall of 
prices on the next market day, with in- 
terludes of cider drinking and story tell- 
ing. Many a straw was chewed to paper 
stock, and many a stick whittled to a 



Bargaining. 



9 



point, many a turning of backs and 
facing round again, many an apparent 
last word and final getting into the cut- 
ter on the one side, and movement 
towards the barn on the other, before a 
bargain was made or a settled disagree- 
ment reached. Sometimes the appear- 
ance of a rival drover, looming in the 
distance, would add interest to the scene 
and hasten conclusions. 

The oxen were sold at a lump price per 
head, or at a fixed price per hundred, 
dressed weight; in the latter case a set- 
tlement was made on the bill of weight 
brought back from the butcher. If no 
price could be agreed upon on the hoof or 
hook, the oxen were sometimes sent ''on 
drift" at so much a head, the drover tak- 
ing them to market and selling them as 
best he could on the feeders' account. 

Occasionally the owner himself, be- 
came drover and salesman in the market. 
If he could not hold his own with the 
butcher on the final field of action, 
he might come back a wiser and a poor- 
er man. The butcher preferred to deal 
with the middlemen, and the drovers 
were apt to feel their field of operations 
was encroached upon, so the two might 
combine on occasion to "roast" the in- 
truder, both for sport and profit. Ex- 
perience is knowledge at first hand, and 
the writer learned that this roasting 
process was not in every individual case 
a success. Moved by reasons he thought 
good he took his own to market. He 
found a townsman had been victimized 
the week before, and overhearing some 
conversation behind the yard fence be- 
tween the drover, with whom he had 
failed to trade at home and a market 
butcher, learned that he also was 
marked for game. His blood Avas up 
and hot; forewarned, he called his wits 
to the front, watched each move 
and made his own with apparent un- 
concern, but in real torture and real ug- 
liness. 

Their plan was to combine and play 
the bear, decry my stock, declare the 
market glutted, that prices were falling; 



and each butcher that came into the 
yard, would make a lower offer than his 
predecessor. Before noon, however, the 
roastee had scored a success. He had 
struck a man not in the ring, and sold 
one pair of oxen for eight dollars more 
than his first asking price. At sunset the 
clouds had passed, the unsophisticated 
farmer went about smiling serenely, and 
when he had beaten the whole crowd of 
drovers and butchers in "laying" the 
weight of a remarkable bull, his ego- 
tism knew no bounds; he went to bed 
counting himself the richer by a trying 
experience, and half a dozen unexpected 
ten dollar bills in his pocket, and an 
added confidence in himself. The aim 
and end of all the care and pains of stall 
feeding being the net cash proceeds at 
market, this story egotistic as it is, may 
fairly be considered as part of the his- 
tory in hand. 

But to return; whoever took the drove 
to market, certain preliminaries were 
always necessary — preliminary steps lit- 
erally. The first thing was to "walk the 
cattle." They had been so closely con- 
fined, with almost no exercise, that 
without this process the excitement at- 
tendant upon being turned loose on the 
road, and the unwonted fatigvie of the 
first day's journey would be sure to 
break them down, rendering them un- 
fit for the week's travel. To make them 
more way wise they were "walked" for a 
mile or more out and back for three or 
four successive daj^s before the event. 
"Walking" was the term, but not the 
fact. Rejoicing at their freedom, the 
animals always started off on a gal- 
lop, raced back and forth, dancing, pranc- 
ing and cutting up all manner of capers, 
to the great delight of the children 
watching and waiting at the windows. 
The subjects grew more calm at each 
exercise, until by Sunday night they 
generally took it for a matter of course, 
as being a new phase m the daily rou- 
tine. 

Monday morning was always starting 
time for the journey to Brighton, and it 



10 



Transit. 



was a stirring scene on the street while 
the drover was mustering his oxen for 
the line of march, from the several barn 
yards where he had bought or engaged 
them. The windows were filled with 
the faces of women and children, and 
the street with a promiscuous stir-up of 
men, boys and beef cattle. As each 
new lot joined the drove, the scenes in 
the barn yard the fall before were re- 
peated, only there was no interference 
in the combats, for no one cared which 
beat. Skirmishing and fighting for rank 
was the business in hand, until after 
much locking of horns, desperate push- 
ing and tearing up of turf, all questions 
of precedence were settled and all faces 
were set towards Cheapside bridge. The 
street and roads in those days were lined 
with fences and gates. The first day's 
marcli ended at Grout's Corner, and a 
tired lot was man and boy and beast on 
arrival. The route was more quiet on 
Tuesday, and after that tlie victims 
marched as steady as gTenadiers to 
Brighton and their destiny. 

In our day wlien crowded passenger 
cars by the dozen make four trips a day 
between Boston and the Connecticut 
Valley, and freight cars deliver oxen at 
Brighton in half a day. it is hard to real- 
ize that sixty years since two stage lines 
each sending three coaches a week on a 
round trip to Boston, supplied all the 
demand for travel between this section 
of the Connecticut Valley and the Hub, 
and that a few stray white-topped bag- 
gage wagons were ample accommoda- 
tions for the freight. But there was 
next to nothing in the M^ay of travel- 
ing for pleasure then, summer vacations 
were unknown, and the day of the 
prolific drummer had not dawned. The 
passengers were generally store keepers 
going twice a year to Boston to buy a 
six months' stock of goods, ministers 
traveling on half-fare to convention or 
on exchanges, political stump .speakers 
in their season, and rarely sisters, aunts 
or cousins going to visit sick relatives in 
city or country. Parties in sable going 



to funerals, so common in the cars to- 
day, were not seen in the stage coach. 
There was no harnessed lightning to 
give notice of death, and no steam to 
carry friends in response. People were 
buried where they died, and the fxmeral 
was attended by a sympathizing neigh- 
borhood. When it was all over tlie slow 
mail carried the sad news to the strick- 
en hearts of the bereaved. 

But however slow this transit, it has 
carried us away from the fat ox and 
his exit. We will return to again see 
him off from the valley on his final 
journey, and consider in connection 
therewith a matter not hitherto touclied 
upon. Behind all the Monday morning 
stir and bustle in starting a drove of fat 
oxen to market, there was often a wrench 
in the heart of the mother at the first 
long parting from an ambitiovis son. 
With tearful eyes she watched him dis- 
appear round the turn of the road, run- 
ning and shouting, whip in hand about 
the excited oxen, he no less excited than 
they, and feeling his consequence as 
never before. For it was frequently on 
occasions like this that the boys of the 
farms took their first look into the out- 
side world. With little or no pay be-v 
yond their expenses on the road, and 
perliaps a little guidance in seeing the 
elepliant in the great cities they would 
go with the drover as his assistants; 
thus day by day. footing their bills, and 
their way to the metropolis. Their bag- 
gage, if any was thought neciessary, 
was carried in leather portmanteaus, 
strapped behind the horns of some of 
the leaders of the drove, so, it was 
safe from molestation. Wonderful 
were the stories with which the travel- 
ers regaled the ears of their envious 
companions on their return in state by 
stage coach. These narratives generally 
bore fruit the next spring in new hatch- 
es of pilgrims; and, incidentally, these 
trips to the city often led to ambitious 
aspirations, to permanent migi-ations, 
and a resultant loss to the valley. 

Since among other changes in this 



The Farm Boy. 



11 



changing era it has come to pass and 
been established, that the "chief end of 
man" is not to "Glorify God and enjoy 
him forever,'" but to get riches or die in 
the attempt, this emigration to the great 
centers, which began about sixty years 
since, has become a prominent factor in 
the history of the Valley towns. The 
ultimate consequences of this movement 
we cannot as yet discern. Time alone 
can determine tliat. Some grounds for 
conjecture there may be in the fact that 
the one man, of the many score of ad- 
venturers, who succeeds in the terrible 
war of competition, is often turning his 
thoughts and his footsteps towards the 
home of his boyhood, for an old age of 
quiet enjoyment away from ; the striv- 
ings and the turmoils of the city; or per- 
haps more often giving of his wealth to 
endow libraries or otherwise enriching 
the social or educational life of his na- 
tive town. Who can gauge the result 
of this reflux, or say whether it be not 
in the line of the great law of compen- 
sation; of one thing, however, we may 
be certain; much will depend upon the 
character of the returning tide. 

But look upon this as we may, the 
old-fashioned farming and the old fash- 
ioned farmer are gone. The stall-fed 
ox has gone, and the old-fashioned boy 
literally followed him to the metropolis. 

The boy was essentially a part and 
parcel of the old farm life, sixty years 
since, but his multifarious occupations 
each in its season are now nearly obso- 
lete. In winter, as we have said, it was 
his duty to straw the sJieds, clear out the 
watering trough, rake up the barn floors, 
sweep up the meal, tend half-bushel in 
fanning up, make hay tea and feed the 
calves, feed the pigs corn in the ear, 
but never from the swill pail; none but 
the owner himself could be trusted in 
preparing the chief meals of the fatten- 
ing swine. He was called upon to milk 
the family cow, to get in wood and cobs 
for the evening fire, and kindlings for the 
morning, to draw cider for the three 
meals and the evening visitor. With the 



opening spring to fill up the odd hours, he 
was set to work on the huge piles of sled 
length fuel in the wood yard, the boun- 
tiful result of the winter's sledding. I 
can testify in one case when the boy 
not being big enougli for the axe an axe 
was made to matcli. the boy. The sled 
wood was from two inches to two feet 
in diameter, the length usually nine or 
twelve feet, and the firewood three feet. 
No measure was used, but the eye was 
trained to cut exact lengths, and the arm 
trained to the knack of sending the chips 
a-flying and leaving a clean cut calf 
just half through the log. The wood 
saw was then unknown. 

The earliest meadow work for the boy 
was to knock dung, clear off the flood 
trash, pile and burn the corn stalks. 
There was usually fun enough in the 
last two employments to disguise the 
work, the bonfires being often an even- 
ing's sport. Then came "driving plow," 
which had no redeeming feature for the 
tired boy slowly plodding up and down 
the long furrows, lazily urging the slow- 
oxen with sleepy voice and fish-pole-llke 
whip which he could not even crack. 
At each bout he looked longingly up to 
the hot sun which seemed to stand still 
in the heavens. Oh, the monotony and 
weariness of it! Even the night brought 
no relief. 

"In dreams he trode the field again. 
In dreams across the burning plaiii 
His lagging legions urged amain." 

The team was usually two pairs of 
oxen led by the family horse; often, 
however, three pairs of oxen and occa- 
sionally four; each addition making it 
easier for the beasts and harder for the 
boy. It was a welcome change when 
(tailed to ride horse to harrow in peas 
and oats, or prepare the land for holing- 
out. The boy must drive the team when 
dunging out, cover dung for the plant- 
er, cut dock on the grass land, plant 
wliite beans among the corn. Watch- 
ing the cornfield to keep off depredators 
was a different thing. In this if the boy 
was allowed the old gun and powder 
horn, he found a congenial occupation in 



12 



WorJc and Play. 



a contest with the wily crow, his cousin 
the crow blackbird and the chipmuck, 
all of which loved the sprouting grain. 
When cornfields were near together the 
boys could congregate or watch turn 
by turn at will. The most vigilant 
watch was called for at early dawn or 
early twilight. If a fish-pond was near 
by, woe to the pickerel as he lay sun- 
ning himself near the surface. T]ie boy 
reasoned well that the crow would be 
scared liy the same shot which killed 
the fish. Trapping woodchucks also 
blended in harmoniously. Too soon 
came riding horse to harrow for the first 
hoeing and harrowing alone for the sec- 
ond and third hoeing. 

Then it was driving cows to and from 
pasture before and after the day's work. 
In the season of berries these were often 
slow journeys, and many a string of 
black-caps on the long stems of herds 
grass were carried home to flavor the 
bread and milk; turning grindstone 
for the mowers, turning swaths after 
them, raking after and trimming up the 
hay-cocks, raking after cart, lugging 
jugs of water from the spring to the 
dinner tree; no ice was then used. 

About the house the boy M^as always 
in demand — piling up the fuel in the wood 
shed, picking up baskets of chips for the 
dinner pot, taking a turn at the cliurn 
dasher, hoeing in the garden, weeding 
out the long beds of beets, onions, par- 
snips, etc., and as he was caught, set to 
picking cucumbers and beans, digging 
potatoes, and picking up apples, running 
of errands to the neighbors or the store. 
It was the boy's business to look after 
the poultry, gather the eggs, care for 
the setting hens, make the coops, and 
feed the chickens. With all this it 
would seem that the old-time boy could 
have small chance for fun or recreation; 
but by hook or by crook this same tough 
little animal found a good deal of time 
for amusement. Fishing and hunting; 
trapping or sJiooting woodchucks and 
muskrats, crows, blue jays and chip- 
mucks; hunting crows" nests; making 



willow whistles; shajiing and playing 
five stones and mumble the peg; going 
in swimming, making and flying kites; 
making and using bows and arrows and 
darts and slings — it was a great thing to 
be able to send the cat tail arrow up out 
of sight — plaj'ing soldier with red flan- 
nel belts and shingle swords, in one case 
the son of a king being a fellow officer; 
playing tag and prisoners base, hide and 
coop, playing ball with home-made ma- 
terial; wicket, round ball, one and two 
old cat, being the favorite games. What 
fun on a September evening, in roasting 
ears of corn on the ends of flexible sticks 
at a burning stump or over the glowing 
coals in the bed of a btmfire of drift 
wood, or in favored places, at tlie ai'ch 
of a burning brick kiln. No corn ever 
did or ever will taste like that. In winter, 
sliding down hill on sleds whittled out 
evenings by the kitchen fire. Making 
skates, the jackknife and gimlet of the 
boy could not compass. To raise monej' to 
buy them.the boy would occasionally get 
a job of some neighbor at 25 cents a day, 
or gather nuts and glean corn, which were 
sold to the store keeper. Some of the 
other games and sports have been hand- 
ed down to the pi-esent generation. 

Tlie boy wore in winter stont cow- 
hide shoes, misfitting spencer and trous- 
ers of homespun, cut and made by some 
Aunt Sophy or Aunt Orra. usually a world 
too wide, which if jiot things of beauty, 
were warm, and allowed free action of 
liml) a7id lung; with a long woolen com- 
foi-ter wound about his neck and thick 
mother-knit mittens, he would exult in 
defying tlie weather and felt as much 
at home on the snow and ice as any po- 
lar bear. Tlie overcoat and overshoes 
were unknown. 

Of his summer rig the b(>y wore hardly 
enough on which to hang a description. 
Bare footed, with a shirt of coarse cot- 
ton, short trousers of tow cloth held up 
by a pair of gallows of his own knit- 
ting, one of which was usually missing; 
a straw hat minus a brim or a crown; 
and the toilet of the lad was complete 



Now and The^i. 



13 



and satisfactory. If we add a sore fin- 
ger tied up in a rag, a limp cansed by 
stone bruise or a thorn, a freckeled face, 
a sturdy frame, an honest eye and a re- 
spectful demeanor to the aged, we have 
a fair delineation of our trusted, hard- 
worked, happy subject. 

The youth of to-day, with his pale 
face, his spindle shanks, his tooth-pick 



shoes, his store clothes, fancy col- 
ored shirt and necktie, his show of 
jewelry, his latin grammar and grown- 
up air, would not be recognized as a 
boy and a brother, by the boy of sixty 
years since. 

So endeth this record of the passing 
of the stall-fed ox and the old-fashioned 
farm boy. 




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